


epic, part iii

by merriell



Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-17
Updated: 2018-09-17
Packaged: 2019-07-13 14:50:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16020176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merriell/pseuds/merriell
Summary: In the Garden of Dead Tales, a prince waited.





	epic, part iii

i.

In the Garden of Dead Tales, a prince is seated on the edge of the thorny fence.

His name used to be chanted on Earth, written in ballots of leaders and praised in people’s lips. Few remembered his name now—the Garden of Dead Tales is unkind to names of people we do not love—though his figure was easily seen, the rusted crown of golden flowers tangled in his head.

His presence was whispered then, from mouth-to-mouth, about an unfinished tale that was allowed to stay in a place where only finished stories live. We see his head nod to the whispers, but his eyes were always watching over the gates of the Garden, faithful to the absence of something we did not know.

We know he waits for someone.

 

*

 

I.

The day Death came for you, you were seated in the hospital room, after months of your lover’s promises on how you will get better. You knew you would not—no amount of numerous doctors’ warnings about your incapability to see the future again was going to be complied when you already knew what was going to happen.

During the last year, letters were sent, gifts ordered; three years of predesigned presents and letters, sent to numerous secretaries and people you trust to deliver with what you had asked them.

Your lover stayed on your bed the moments you slipped away. You remembered the day you met him, skin damp from sweat, the sheer curtains of your classroom swaying as the wind delivered the sound of his laughter from the basketball court.

You knew that someday you will meet him. You had never been interested in changing the stability of the future you see. Yet, that day, you walked out of the class and threw the mineral water he needed to his head.

“Thank you,” he yelled after you walked away without so much as an explanation. “What’s your name?”

Would he even remember if you two meets again in whatever future awaited you?

“Moreno,” you said.

Purposely, you didn’t see the future.

“Stay with me,” he whispered to your ear. You realized you were back in the hospital and you see Ronové stalking from the opened windows, claws ghosting the windowsill. She waited. She knew what was going to happen.

You kissed your lover’s shoulder as you took hin into your arms. You did not say anything. You did not assure him that if anything could make you come back from death, it was the warmth of his chest.

 

 

*

 

ii.

There are few stories like this.

Eurydice, with her tale only starting, came to the Garden once, her clothes tattered from the rose bushes. The Garden opened the door for her and an Orpheus followed her, every angle of his body bruised from the journey from Earth. The Gardener took a look at him and decided he pitied the love Orpheus had for her.

“She will come back to the living with you,” the Gardener said, “if you don’t look back.”

And so Orpheus left, Eurydice behind him.

He opened the Fountain of Sight that time, enabling us to see what had happened. We knew this story. We’ve seen it happen plenty of times. It never changed.

The next time we see Eurydice getting dragged by the roots of her hair, vines circling every sockets, we watch solely because we could. We already knew how it was going to end. Orpheus failed. Eurydice came back with tears in her eyes. We wait, but Orpheus had no place in the Garden. It happened as often as Persephone came every time the season change. It was a routine in the Garden, to see the tales weave again and again, unable to break free until some God decided it was time to stop.

Even the prince saw this happening once. We held his breath, expecting him to leave his makeshift throne at the edge of the Garden. He sighed and looked away, but did not leave his post.

We wondered quietly.

We know he waits for someone.

We know his tale continues.

*

 

II.

You came one morning, suit freshly pressed, hair combed back. Your son was the one who opened the door and nearly swooned to the floor if you had not catch him and reassured him that you are not alive. Where a human once stood, a demon existed—you still had your premonition and what was left of your skull, but you felt powerful, you felt strangely free from the chains of human flesh.

Your lover saw you second. He stared at you in disbelief. He didn’t take another step forward. His hands were trembling, you remembered.

“Who are you?” he asked.

You weren’t a human anymore, but the earth around you shook as he started crying.

“Moreno,” you answered. “I’m Moreno Nadir.”

Is that true? You did not know.

“Who are you?” he asked again.

“I’m your husband,” you answered.

“Is this a joke?” your lover turned to your son.

“I love you, Raka,” you told him, more of a whisper than words.

“I—“ he crumbled in front of you. Your heart hurted more than it ever did.

 

 

 

*

 

iii.

“Who is he waiting for?” we ask the Gardener.

The Gardener took a glance at the prince and scoffed loudly. We knew he did not need to breathe. “An abomination,” he answered, his voice booming through the leaves.

“How long?”

“Every century I open the door for a demon for one day,” the Gardener told them. “For the rest of the century he waits.”

 

*

 

III.

You already knew the day he was going to die. You sat down beside him and kissed his lips gently. “I love you, Raka,” you whispered to his mouth. He smiled at you—the same smile that he had flaunted at you the day you met him, the kind that radiated from his eyes—and leaned his head at your shoulder.

The car sped around the cliff and crashed. He did not scream. You held his hand and kissed it before the car hit the ground, and he looked at you and whispered: “Husband, I see you when it ends.”

You sat in the middle of the wreck, still holding the bloodied hand. You see Leraje standing near the trees, your friend and your husband near her. You let go of the hand and went to him, kissing his forehead.

 “Time is running out, I can’t hide them forever,” Leraje said.

“I love you,” you told him. You turned to your friend and said: “Evren is waiting for you.”

“And you?” Giri asked.

“I can’t come with you. As you can see, I’m alive,” you gestured at yourself.

“Doesn’t that mean he is alone?!” your friend gestured to your lover, his anger sticking even after his time had run out.

“Nadir,” Leraje warned. “ _Time_.”

You pulled Kinan into your arms, smelled the smell of him wafting from his neck, and whispered: “I will come. I will always come for you.”

He whispered back: “I know.”

 

*

 

iv.

The Gardener came to the edge of the Garden and opened the gates. It creaked and we hold our breath.

A demon with lavender skin walked in, his eyes shining yellow. He looked so out of place, yet when his foot took a step in, he turned into a human again, a chain of vines in his neck.

The prince stepped away from his throne and ran into him. It had been so long since we saw a new story unfold in front of us that we did not let go of our breath until they had pulled away.

“Reno,” he whispered, and we knew this is a name that meant _I love you_.

“Kinan,” and for one day, we put a name into the prince who waited.

 

 

 

*

 

IV.

“It’s time,” Leraje appeared beside you as you put down the sword of light she had given you.

You stood up from your kneeling position and followed her into a gate of roses. The rose bush stood tall like skyscrapers around you as you walked in, a slowly revealed path growing in front of you. The gate of the Garden creaked as it opened. You heard the sound of breath all across the Garden.

“Reno,” he said. It had been such a long time since you heard your human name.

“Kinan,” you whispered. And it might as well meant _love_.

 

*

 

We let go of our breath.

We know this story continues.

We waited with the prince, our eyes watching the gates.

And a century passes….


End file.
